


The Pleasures of Life

by AngelQueen



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: AU in that Padmé is not nor will she ever be attracted to Rush Clovis, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Caring For Your Partner, Don't Judge Me, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Happy Sex, I tried to write PWP and this came up instead, Not to mention taste, Oral Sex, POV First Person, Padmé has far better self-esteem than that, Post-Star Wars: The Phantom Menace, Pre-Star Wars: Attack of the Clones, Star Wars Rare Pairs Exchange 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-08-24 11:59:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16639673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelQueen/pseuds/AngelQueen
Summary: During her early months as a Senator, an irritating soirée takes an interesting, unexpected turn for Padmé.





	The Pleasures of Life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nichestars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nichestars/gifts).



Padmé thanks the stars for years of training that keeps her from showing her true feelings on her face. While many might assume that she had, during her reign as Queen, depended on the ceremonious makeup as a shield to hide behind, she knows very well that the makeup had only been a thin façade. It took strict self-discipline in order to create the solemn, unyielding face of the monarch. And while she may no longer be Queen of the Naboo, that she has maintained that self-discipline. 

It is quite possibly the only thing that has kept her from slapping Senator Rush Clovis.

The man has been pursuing her since they were introduced several weeks ago, when they both joined the Loyalist Committee that sought to negotiate with the star systems leaving the Republic. She shared a meal with him on one occasion, a working dinner where she had firmly kept the topics of discussion on the topic of the committee’s agenda, despite Clovis’ best efforts. Still, despite her giving the clear signals that she is not interested, the senator has refused to let up his pursuit of her.

Case in point. The Loyalist Committee has put together a soirée to celebrate some obscure Republic achievement, inviting various officials from different areas and levels of the government, as well as other beings of significant influence. They have chosen one of these most exclusive venues on Coruscant, the Galactic Peninsula, which hosts the most varied cuisine – thus permitting them to cater to a large variety of beings with different nutritional requirements – and the most luxurious accommodations. It even has a large garden for the sole use of their guests. Padmé had cringed at the expense, had been sickened to see the amount of funds being blown on a _party_ of all things. She is not insensible that occasional flashes of wealth are necessary in this line of work, but the amount of credits being spent on this one evening could probably alleviate the poverty of an entire planet for at least a week.

A hand reaching out to brush her cheek interrupts Padmé’s musings, and she instinctively steps back, unwilling to let Clovis touch her. She has done nothing to encourage his attentions, has indeed done her best to actively dissuade him. His refusal to take the hint is becoming… bothersome, not to mention concerning. It will not be long before Captain Typho and her handmaidens take offense at the liberties that Clovis is attempting to take. She trusts her people to not make an overt scene – handmaidens are known for their subtlety, and Captain Typho is no stranger to politics – but that will not stop them from setting up a situation to get the man out of sight and quite possibly break a few bones. 

Still, she herself is rapidly running out of patience. “If you’ll excuse me, Senator Clovis,” she says, her voice clipped. “I have not yet had a moment to pay my respects to Senator Organa for his work with the refugees from the Separatist worlds.” She then turns on her heel and strides away before the man can think of a way to invite himself along. 

Though she does intend to find Bail, Padmé takes a detour and makes for the open bar. She needs a drink. Thankfully, there are only a few people gathered there, so she doesn’t have to wait long for the bartender to reach her. “A Corellian Twister,” she orders. “Make it a double.”

The bartender is efficient and within less than a minute, she hands the drink to her. Padmé immediately takes a large swallow of the liquid, and winces a little as it burns on its way down. She doesn’t let it stop her, though. She finishes the drink and then says to the bartender, who is wiping down her counter nearby, “Another.”

It’s when the bartender is handing her the second Twister that a voice to her right catches her attention. “Senator Amidala?”

Padmé turns, praying it isn’t someone who wants her to go back to managing Clovis. She’s had her fill of the man and his attempts at flirting with her. However, it is no Senator’s aide or hotel employee, but a human man dressed in the robe and tunics of a Jedi Knight. Her eyes go to his face and despite the impressive beard and hair that brushes his shoulders, it takes barely a moment for her to recognize him. “Obi-Wan? Obi-Wan Kenobi?”

The knight bows to her and offers her a keen smile. His blue eyes twinkle. “Ah, so you do remember me, Senator. Congratulations on your appointment to the Senate,” he adds. “Forgive me for not offering them when you first came to Coruscant. It has been a busy time for the Jedi.”

Padmé nods, understanding. The Separatist Crisis has been engulfing the galaxy for some time, even before she abdicated the throne. The many fires started throughout the galaxy are so often situations that merit the attention of the Jedi. She has seen many of the reports, where some systems choose to stay with the Republic only because of Jedi intervention, as well as the ones who leave and the Jedi is either chased out of the system or, worse, murdered for their trouble. The latter instance is happening all too frequently. “I understand,” she says. “There is much to be done, and hardly enough people to do it these days. And,” she adds with a smile, “Please, it’s Padmé to an old friend.”

They fall into a polite conversation over their respective drinks, ranging from the whereabouts of his apprentice (“Anakin is studying for several exams, which have been put off due to our busy schedule.”), the state of Naboo (“Very well, settling in under Queen Jamillia.”), and friendships they have in common (“Bail? Fine man, completely incorruptible, thank the Force. Plus, he can match me drink for drink when he sets his mind to it.”).

They keep any talk of politics to a minimum. Padmé slowly relaxes over the course of the conversation, until out of the corner of her eye she spots a familiarly dressed figure weaving through the crowd. She curses under breath and tries to duck down without actually looking like she’s doing so.

Of course, Obi-Wan notices. “Padmé?” he asks, a perplexed expression crossing his handsome face.

She glances around urgently. Grabbing her latest drink – her fourth – she says, “Care to take a walk with me, Master Kenobi? The Peninsula’s garden is supposed to be spectacular.”

He blinks once, but then nods. “Of course.” He then takes his own drink in one hand while offering her his arm in a gallant gesture. Padmé doesn’t hesitate to take it and they make for the exit. Much to her relief, Clovis either does not see them leave, or is blocked by the crowd from following them. 

The garden of the Galactic Peninsula is indeed everything it is purported to be. It is set high in the skyline of Coruscant, permitting guests a view of the cityscape that is nearly unmatched. The florae is also amazingly eclectic, an array of different plants from all over the galaxy brought together in a glorious riot of colors and textures. 

“It’s lovely,” Obi-Wan says from beside her as they stroll along.

“It is,” she agrees, taking a sip of her Twister. “My favorite is the stone wall they built here with the Chandrillan ivy falling down over it.” She nods her head toward the area in question, which is now bathed in shadow now that the sun has fallen. 

Obi-Wan peers over at it, and nods. “It takes away from the durasteel and artificiality of the city, makes it feel more real.”

She nods. “It reminds me of home.”

They continue their amble through the flowers and other greenery before they finally come to the edge of the garden. It’s here that Padmé sees the skyline of Coruscant, bathed in the final rays of sunlight before darkness falls. She lays her glass down on the balcony ledge as Obi-Wan leans against it, his body angled toward her. 

His eyes on her make her tingle. When Padmé meets his gaze, she sees a question, a curiosity in his lovely eyes.

It’s not the first time Padmé has thought of Obi-Wan Kenobi as beautiful or handsome. Even in the midst of the crisis they had met during, Padmé had been taken aback by the young man’s physical attractiveness. She had shunted it aside, of course. A firefight, a mad dash for freedom – these were not the places to succumb to hormones. She’d had a planet to save, after all. Nonetheless, she’d noticed.

It’s the alcohol that makes her do what she does next. Or rather, it lowers her inhibitions, and the ability to resist what _could_ be a foolish decision, though she certainly hopes it does not turn out to be one.

 _He tastes of starlight,_ Padmé thinks when she kisses Obi-Wan in the fading light of Coruscant’s dusk. _Starlight and wine._ It is a whimsical thought, she knows, but for all her way with words, she knows no other way to describe it. 

Still, she does not regret doing it, and, given that he doesn’t pull away from her, in fact kisses her back, neither does he. His lips move against her own for several moments before moving to the corner of her mouth, her cheek, and Padmé could swear he leaves sparks in his wake along her skin. When Obi-Wan moves even further down, lips brushing along the bare skin of her neck, she cannot restrain a faint gasp. He pulls back then, perhaps concerned he has gone too far, crossed some line, but nothing could be further from the truth. When he moves to step away from her – and she can almost hear the apologies forming in his mind – she reaches out to grasp the lapels of his cloak and pulls him forward even as she steps back. Her back hits the balcony wall, and Obi-Wan comes to press against her front as their lips meet yet again.

Her fingers glide up his chest to his shoulders and then threads into his hair. It’s like she cannot get him close enough, even as her breasts press against his chest. She cannot get enough of this feeling that spreads through her body. She’s never felt like this before –

Loud, trilling laughter cuts through the haze of desire that has engulfed them and they finally break the kiss. Both of them turn in the direction of the sound, and Padmé is relieved to see that a small group of people are retreating off of the terrace overlooking the garden. They have not been seen. 

She turns her head back and finds Obi-Wan has done the same, his blue eyes focused on her. In that moment, she is aware of how breathless she is, how their bodies have molded to one another, and how the cool evening air is causing the flushed, bare skin of her neck to tingle. She is suddenly filled with such a sense of _wanting_ that it takes a moment for her to bring her thoughts back to some semblance of order. 

“Will you come to my apartment tonight?” she asks. The words fly from her mouth before she can even fully think of them, but she does not regret them. She wants him.

His gaze has not wavered from hers, and it does not waver now, but he does not reply immediately. Instead, he stares at her searchingly for several moments, and the silence stretches out between them long enough that Padmé starts to feel nervous. Perhaps he…

“Yes.” With that one word, all uncertainty flies from her mind and she grins. 

“Good,” she says, and leans forward to kiss him again. She is stopped, however, when he rests a single finger on her lips. She blinks, surprised, but Obi-Wan gives her a smile full of mischief and he leans forward, whispering, “Soon, my lady.”

Then he backs away from her, sweeps her a brief bow, and walks away, leaving her to stand there wanting nothing more than to run after him and pull him back to her. She restrains herself, however, and instead takes a deep, steadying breath before also making her way back inside. As she walks, she plucks her comlink out of the folds of her dress and taps in a pre-arranged signal to her handmaidens and Captain Typho, expressing her desire to leave the gathering.

* * *

Padmé does not keep Duja, Cordé, and Dormé long after they return to her apartment. Once they’ve helped her remove her gown and let her hair down, she dismisses the three women, telling them that she would be fine on her own for the evening. That none of them smirk is a sign of either their exceptional professionalism or that they truly do not know that Padmé is expecting a... guest.

Once alone, she deliberates for a moment before stripping her underthings from her body. Completely nude, she then dons her favorite robe, a lovely dark blue garment that is just thick enough to warm her against the evening air of Coruscant, which she has always thought of as strangely chilly, despite the planet’s use of climate regulators. Sitting down at her small vanity, she takes up her brush, running it through her hair. As she does so, she cannot help but wonder just what it is she is doing, taking up with a Jedi Knight, actually inviting him back to her apartment! Yes, she is grateful for his assistance in avoiding Rush Clovis’ tiresome attentions, but does that justify… throwing herself at him in the garden and arranging a… _tryst_ with him? 

Padmé can see her cheeks growing pink in her reflection as she recalls those moments in the garden, what it had felt like to have Obi-Wan’s lips on hers, to feel his body pressed against her own. Just remembering it is enough to relight that spark of desire. She had wanted him in that garden. Hells, she probably would have let him take her right there if they had not been interrupted. It’s why she had so impulsively asked him to join her here. She had wanted him then, and she wants him now.

The matter settled in her mind, Padmé sets the brush down, stands, and departs her bedroom. When she had first arrived on Coruscant as a new Senator, several acquaintances had sent her gifts, including several bottles of wine. Finding them where they had been stored just off the kitchen, Padmé peers over the selection before selecting an Alderaanian red. She does not know Obi-Wan’s taste in wine, but she has yet to meet anyone who does not enjoy an Alderaanian vintage. 

It’s just when she finishes filling the two goblets that a chime echoes through the apartment, signaling a request for entry. 

She knows it’s him, having added his name to the list of those permitted access the building shortly after she’d arrived home. Leaving the goblets and the wine bottle on a table near the sitting room, Padmé takes a deep breath and goes to answer the door.

It is him. He stands in her doorway, the hood of his cloak pulled up over his head. Still, despite the low lighting of their surroundings, she can see his face clearly. Though he smiles at her in greeting, Padmé can see a hint of caution in his features, and she wonders if he has been asking himself some of the same questions she had been asking herself just minutes before. 

Before the air between them can grow awkward, Padmé steps back and says, “Please, come in, Obi-Wan.”

Once the door slides shut behind him, she leads him further into the apartment. As they move towards the sitting room, she takes up the previously deposited wine glasses and offers one to him. He takes it, an appreciative glint in his eyes.

They settle themselves on one of the couches, their bodies angled toward one another. They sip their wine in silence, and Padmé is a little grateful for the small distraction. As she looks at Obi-Wan, she realizes that she does indeed still want him, but she is not entirely certain how to recapture the moments they had shared earlier in the evening. 

“Senator,” Obi-Wan says, interrupting her thoughts.

She raises an eyebrow. “Are we back to titles now, Knight Kenobi?” she asks him, softening what could be thought of as sharp question with a small smile.

He huffs a little, but returns the smile with one of his own. “Padmé, then,” he concedes. His expression becomes serious again and he continues, “Are you certain about this? We’ve both had enough to drink that we were not necessarily thinking straight...”

Padmé had wanted to interrupt him from the get go, to reassure him that she is quite aware of what she wants, but she forces herself to stay silent. He has the right to make his own feelings heard every bit as much as she does. She leans forward and places her half-consumed wine glass on the caf table in front of the couch. As she sets back, she meets Obi-Wan’s gaze. “I have been drinking, it’s true,” she admits, “but hardly enough to be completely inebriated and unable to think or reason.” She refuses to blink or look away. “I am clearheaded enough to determine whose company I wish to enjoy, and I wish to enjoy yours.” She pauses, staring at him searchingly. “Of course, if such things are against the rules of the Jedi Order or any vows you have personally taken, I would understand if you wish to refuse…”

Obi-Wan’s hand twitches in between hers before squeezing her fingers. “No, no, nothing like that,” he reassures her. “While some Jedi do take vows of celibacy, it is by no means required, nor have I chosen such a route for myself. And the Order does not forbid its members from sharing of ourselves, so long as all involved parties are able to legally and freely consent to the activities in question.” His gaze does not falter as he guides her hand up to his lips, and he kisses it gently. “And I should very much like to enjoy your company tonight,” he says in a much quieter tone. 

Relief sweeps through Padmé, and she cannot restrain the beaming smile she gives him. Reaching out, she takes his wine glass and places it next to her own discarded one. She then scoots closer to him on the couch, leaning forward to kiss him lightly on the corner of his mouth. “I’m glad,” she murmurs along his cheek. 

Without another word, Obi-Wan turns his head to allow his lips to meet her own full on. The kiss is gentle, tentative, little resembling the heated embraces from earlier, but Padmé doesn’t mind. They have more than enough time, the best fires are the ones that are stoked and coaxed from small flickers to roaring conflagrations. 

It also allows Padmé to truly savor the sensations. She has never kissed a man with a beard before, and the facial hair tickles at the skin of her cheeks. Suddenly, the question of what it would feel like to have his beard tickle her skin on other areas of her body flashes through her mind. Heat bubbles up in her chest, and the sensation of _wanting_ she had felt earlier in the evening begins to stir.

Obi-Wan’s hands come up to cup her face as his lips continue to move in tandem with her own. His fingers glide upward and into the curls of her hair, dragging his nails lightly along her scalp. Padmé shudders and groans into his mouth. In response, she maneuvers herself even closer to Obi-Wan, to the point where her body hovers above him. Slowly, she draws back, allowing their eyes to meet again. 

They are both breathing heavily now, and she can see desire in his eyes. His eyes drift down then, and, curious, she follows his gaze. There she finds that the closure of her robe has come loose and fallen several centimeters, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of the skin that lies beneath it. Padmé can’t help but laugh, and she makes a decision. Slowly, she withdraws from her position above Obi-Wan and stands in front of him. He straightens, his eyes following her every move, and he even reaches out to her, his hands falling on her waist. She revels in the heat of his hands seeping through her robe.

Stroking the back of his hand with her fingers, she asks, “Perhaps we should take this somewhere more comfortable?”

Obi-Wan nods. “As you say, my lady,” he says, a teasing lilt in his voice. He comes to his feet as she takes a step back, and he shrugs his cloak off, leaving it to fall back onto the floor. As she watches it, she realizes that he has removed his boots already. Laughing to herself, he takes his hand and leads him out of the sitting room and towards the back of the apartment.

She does not turn on the light in her bedroom, considering it well-lit enough due to the city lights pouring in through the window. Turning to face him, Padmé and Obi-Wan stand close at the foot of her bed. The change in location has also changed the energy between them. While the playfulness remains, a foundation to how they intend their time together to be, it is now mingled with something sharper, like a flame that will not be made to die down until it has burned to its own satisfaction.

Slowly, she reaches up to the fastener of her robe, and draws it down. Obi-Wan’s eyes follow her hands with a singular focus, though his hands move over his own clothes, loosening ties and knots where necessary. When the fastener is completely undone, Padmé shrugs the robe off and lets it fall at her feet. There is nothing underneath it.

For several moments, neither of them move, having completely bared their respective bodies to one another. Padmé’s eyes rove over the lean, hard body in front of her, from the strong, muscled shoulders, down the dusting of red hair over his chest, and to his cock, which is rising to proclaim its interest in the current situation. 

She tears her eyes from the sight to return to his face. Obi-Wan has clearly been taking her in as well, if the flush to his cheeks is anything to go by. He does not reach out to her, however, though Padmé can see he wants to. He seems to still be letting her take the lead in this. So she steps closer, closer, close enough that her breasts press against his chest and the tip of his cock brush against her thigh. 

It’s enough of an invitation. He leans in and claims her mouth with his own, his arms coming around her to pull her even closer against him. The sensation of her skin meeting his feels like she’s touching a live electric wire and she gasps from it. Obi-Wan uses her reaction to his advantage, deepening the kiss and invading her mouth with his tongue. She does not mind one bit, and she rises to meet the challenge.

Their hands begin to roam over one another’s bodies, sometimes just gliding along, while others scraping nails over skin. When Obi-Wan tries the latter, Padmé can’t stop herself from _purring_. Eventually, they pull back enough to actually focus on breathing, but Obi-Wan appears to feel secure enough to actually push the envelope a bit. He kisses her lips lightly, no more than a faint brush, but then starts to kiss along the skin of her jaw, her neck, her shoulder. There is only a small hesitation before he continues even lower.

He grasps her left breast in a firm, but not harsh, grip and in the space of a second, his lips close around her nipple. Padmé has never thought of her breasts as particularly sensitive, and while some of her previous bed partners have enjoyed themselves with them, it has never been her particular favorite aspect of lovemaking. But this… whatever Obi-Wan is doing, it sets her nerve-endings on fire! She lets out a small whimper, and her hands fly up to his head, holding him to her breast lest he stop whatever he is doing.

 _Is he using the Force?_ she wonders.

He must sense the thought, because a chuckle emanates from his throat and he turns his head just enough for his eyes to peer up at her. The sparkle of amusement is both endearing and frustrating. 

In a short time, he switches his attentions from her left breast to her right, and the shocks of pleasure continue to course through her body, straight to her core. She pants, clenches Obi-Wan’s hair in the tight grip of her fingers, and thrusts her hips forward, seeking even closer contact with his body.

Slowly, Obi-Wan comes to a halt and releases her nipple from his suckling. Straightening, he guides her to sit down at the foot of her bed. Once she sits, he kneels down at her feet. When he places his hands on her knees and carefully spreads her legs, Padmé’s eyes widen. This isn’t something she was expecting. Few of her bed partners had cared for something like this.

“I wonder, then, if those people were even worth of your time,” Obi-Wan murmurs.

She stiffens. “How –”

He gives her a small smile. “Normally, it is quite easy to block out the surface thoughts of those around me, but,” he gestures between them, “with this much skin-to-skin contact, it is harder. My apologies.” At Padmé’s nod, he continues, “I’ve always found that pleasuring one’s partner is a pleasure all on its own. It’s hard to fathom why it would be unenjoyable for the giver.”

Padmé doesn’t get a chance to respond, because Obi-Wan wastes no time in renewing his attack on her senses. He plants kisses along her thighs, and in those moments Padmé realizes that her previous imaginings of what it might feel like to have Obi-Wan’s beard tickle other areas of her skin did not even come _close_ to the real thing. 

The first lap of Obi-Wan’s tongue between her legs yanks a choked cry of pleasure out of her. It’s only then, when Obi-Wan uses his fingers to spread her lower lips, that she realizes just how wet he has made her. Gods, but it feels _good_! 

He swirls his tongue around her clit, and the pleasure of it makes her body spasm. He doesn’t let up, circling a few more times before going lower, sinking further into her wetness until he finds her entrance. Padmé moans, leaning back and spreading her legs even wider. His tongue probes at her opening, testing, tasting, teasing before he withdraws to move back up to her clit again. He has but to brush it once and she is sent over the edge. She keens as her body twists, convulses in its gratification.

Slowly, Padmé comes back to herself, and she can only marvel. None of her previous partners, male or female, have ever made her come that quickly. She opens her eyes to look down at Obi-Wan. He still kneels at the foot of the bed, looking… not smug, but _pleased_ , happy to have given such pleasure. She cannot help but smile at him in return. 

Pushing herself back up, Padmé reaches out and caresses Obi-Wan’s face. “Thank you,” she says softly. “That was…” she trails off, not sure she can find the words to describe what she feels. 

He doesn’t seem to mind her difficulty in expressing herself, however, merely leans into her hand and turns to kiss her palm. “You’re quite welcome,” he murmurs against her skin. 

With her free hand, she nudges him to stand up, giving her enough room to slide closer to the edge of the bed. Her attention is immediately drawn to his cock, which is now fully erect. She eyes the small bead of moisture at the tip, and then reaches out. When she swipes her finger over the tip of his cock, gathering the moisture up, Obi-Wan inhales sharply. His eyes are riveted on her hand, and he watches, his eyes growing dark, even fierce, when Padmé raises her finger to her mouth. She licks the droplet, and a noise emanates from Obi-Wan’s throat that sounds something like a growl. Her smile grows into a smirk. 

Before he can retaliate, Padmé leans forward and grasps his cock at the base. Without ceremony, she lowers her mouth to the tip of his cock. She doesn’t try to swallow him in a single movement, knows better than to try. Instead, she goes slowly, fisting his cock with her hand while she takes him a little more deeply as her mouth and throat adjust. Her tongue runs over his cock, exploring every inch. 

Padmé can hear Obi-Wan’s faint groans above her, but she does not pause in sucking on his cock, trying to give him a taste of the pleasure he’d given her. Then his hands are in her hair, holding her curls in a grip almost tight enough to be painful. Yet, there seems to be an uncertainty about his grip, like he doesn’t know if he wants to pull her off or hold her in place so he can fuck her mouth. She hums, deep in her throat, and Obi-Wan stiffens in front of her. He makes his decision then, and carefully pulls himself out of her mouth. She looks up at him, and she can see the sheen of sweat on his chest and brow.

“Best stop there,” he tells her with a breathless laugh, “or this will end too soon.”

Padmé doesn’t argue. Instead, she scoots further back in the bed, beckoning him to follow her. He doesn’t hesitate, coming to lay on his side on her left. One hand holding his head up and the other coming to rest on her stomach, he asks, “Do you wish for protection?”

She blinks, and then shakes her head. “That’s not necessary,” she says, then looks at him more closely, adding, “Unless you’d prefer it?”

Obi-Wan also shakes his head. “I’m clean.” His fingers move lightly over her stomach, drawing random patterns into her skin. As they begin to drift lower, Padmé reaches out to cup his cheek in her hand, and leans toward him. He understands her movements, and meets her halfway. There is no real finesse to this kiss, merely desperation and hunger. Their mouths open and their tongues meet, rubbing and twisting about one another. When his fingers dip into her folds, sliding over her clit, her moan pours straight into him. She grasps at his shoulder, pulling and tugging him closer to her. Within seconds, Obi-Wan is half on top of her, one hand sliding underneath her head as he kisses her, and the other still moving between her legs.

The first finger to breach her entrance makes her groan, her hips instinctively pushing against his hand. He slides the finger in and out in an easy rhythm, timing it to the kisses he starts raining down on her throat, her collarbone, and her breasts. When he licks one of her nipples with his tongue, the jolt of pleasure goes straight down to where his hand is busy preparing her. Soon enough, a second finger joins the first, and Padmé whimpers. She enjoys the sensation of being filled, and she can feel the start of it, that stretch. But she wants _more_.

If Obi-Wan hears that thought from her mind, she doesn’t mind at all. Regardless if he did or not, he maneuvers himself over her, positioning himself between her legs. He withdraws his fingers, causing her to moan in disappointment. But then he brings those wet digits to his mouth and he licks them and _oh gods_ now she knows something of what she caused in him earlier. There is just _something_ about the gesture. 

“Do you want more?” he asks her. His eyes are locked with hers. 

“Yes,” she answers, rocking her hips towards him as best she can.

“More what?” he pushes. “More of my fingers? Or perhaps my tongue again?” The smile that crosses his lips is pure sin. “You seemed to enjoy that.”

“No,” Padmé groans. “More!” She grabs at him, pulls him to rest on top of her more fully. When his face is just inches from hers, she growls, “Fuck me, Kenobi!”

Obi-Wan laughs. “As my lady wishes.” She can feel his hand slide between their bodies, taking himself in hand.

He pushes into her slowly, but steadily. His fingers had done some of the work in preparing her, but Obi-Wan is not a small man. His cock is far thicker than his fingers. Her inner muscles shiver in a brief protest, before stretching to accommodate him. Still, Padmé does not mind the minor discomfort, in fact enjoys it. He is no sooner inside of her that he pulls back, only to push back in, this time a bit faster. Her nerve-endings spark from the sliding sensations, and she revels in it. “Faster, Obi-Wan,” she breathes.

He hears her plea, and begins to move faster, the slow slide becoming sharp thrusts. As he moves over her, she tilts her hips up to meet him. It takes a few attempts to get the timing right, but oh, it still feels amazing. 

Even as his pace increases, grows harsher, Obi-Wan doesn’t let it consume him. His hand moves in between them, and rubs her clit roughly. The jolt of additional sensations tears a wail of pleasure from her. Her muscles tighten around him as a result, and his groan joins hers, but he does not let up. 

“Oh fuck, Obi-Wan,” she pants, “fuck… fuck me…”

Her peak slams into her with all the subtlety of a speeder collision, so intense that it’s almost blinding. Suddenly, it’s as though she is aware of everything around her, from the sheets of her bed bunching up around her body even to the very air molecules they breathe. She can still feel Obi-Wan moving over and in her, now seeking his own pleasure and completion in her satiated body. He moves fast and is relentless, his hips slamming against her own. After one particularly hard thrust, Padmé can feel the pulse of his cock as he spends himself inside of her. 

She opens her eyes to see that his own have closed as he rides the currents of his spent passion. His hips continue to move against hers, though at a much slower pace, and she can see his arms trembling on either side of her in the effort to keep him from collapsing on top of her. His muscles begin to shift, and she knows he is preparing to move off of her, but she stops this by wrapping her legs around his hips, urging him closer. 

“It’s all right,” she murmurs, pulling at his shoulders and urging him to rest against her. Obi-Wan does not yet have the strength to resist her, and instead allows her to do as she wishes. This ends with him on top of her, his cock still inside of her, his head resting on her shoulder. Padmé knows that this position won’t be comfortable for them for very long, but for now, she is quite happy to stay in it all the same. It’s one of the things she has always enjoyed in the aftermath of lovemaking, the feeling of being completely connected with one’s partner, of being a single, joined being. 

As their breathing and racing hearts begin to slow, Padmé thinks for a moment on how her evening began, with having to endure the attentions of someone she found abhorrent, and how it has ended, here in bed with someone she calls a friend and cares for deeply. She turns her head to look at Obi-Wan, and she brushes her lips over his temple in a tender kiss. 

Padmé is by no means an expert on the Jedi, having only the barest of knowledge of how their rules, their Code, actually works. She doesn’t know if they are permitted lovers in a more long-term arrangement, or if they are confined to one-night encounters. Still, even if it is only the latter, she is glad that they are not completely cut off from the pleasures of life. 

Eventually, Obi-Wan does shift off of her and onto the mattress beside her. He then slips from the bed and walks naked into her ‘fresher, returning with a couple of damp cloths. Once they have cleaned themselves up, there is a pause in their movements and Padmé sees a flicker of uncertainty return to his features. 

She reaches for the blankets and throws them open, making a silent note to herself to make sure the counterpane is sent through the wash tomorrow. Upon climbing into the bed, she holds out her hand to him. He stares at her, blinking once, and then takes it. They settle down, Padmé resting her head on his chest and Obi-Wan’s arm coming around her shoulders.

They do not speak, but the silence is a calm, peaceful one and they drift off to sleep together, content.


End file.
